Pretense
by CatchWolfzie
Summary: It's been two years since Michael assembled his own rag tag team of rebels against the Corporation. But with a SQUIP ruled world, progress is slow. He's made choices he wishes he hadn't, but everything will be worth it once they get Jeremy out. It's all for him. It's always been all for him. (Dystopian AU)
1. Chapter 1

"HEY! HEY!"

"Panel's down, all Combats to Section Thirteen!"

"There's been an attack! The whole wing's on fire!"

"It's Mell again. Surveillance spotted him exiting the building."

"CAN WE GET A MEDSQUIP TO THIRTEEN!"

Hot, angry flames pushed out from the side of the Corporation's main science building, a torrent of orange combusted into neon yellow peppered with dark ash. It swept out like a wave, exploring every corridor and gutting the tower completely as CombatSQUIPS in black body armour scampered around. Smoke obscured the lone figure standing on a balcony opposite the building.

His old hoodie that once was a vibrant red now clung to his body in splotches of brown and black. Tattered patches were sown into his sleeve and chest; most of them were as weathered as the rest of the hoodie, but one was cleaner. Newer. It was a modest, red circle with the embroidered word: Rejects.

"Bastards," Michael whispered. He fished a pair of old earbuds from his pocket along with a battered phone. Every good escape needed a sick-as-hell soundtrack. The bass dropped in his ears, he took off down the fire escape, and shot through the crowded streets of the working sector. His stunt had drawn a lot of attention; a sea of business suits and briefcases stood gawking at the explosions. All the better for the reigning leader of the Rejects, who now just narrowly missed being hit by a car. Instead he rolled over the hood and landed expertly on the concrete, still gunning it.

As he ran, he looked for his spotter. Back before the Corporation had seized power, back when squipped people were the minority, you couldn't tell just by looking who had one and who didn't. But the Gen4 SQUIPS that came out later caused anyone hosting the technology to have glowing, electric blue eyes. Those eyes surrounded him now, as people began to recognize him.

"It's Mell! Quick!"

"Someone call the Combats!"

"He's heading for the gates!"

He dodged a woman's purse. Jumped a manhole. A harsh zap came from somewhere behind him. Michael chanced a look and saw four CombatSQUIPS rushing towards him. Their faces were almost entirely covered by heavy plating, but their eyes shone from a narrow slit. The sight carried him faster. Head down, shoulders back, making sure his feet never touched the ground for more than a second. They kept shooting their blasters. Bolts of blue electricity singed his clothes. Come on. Come on! Where was-

Wait. There! Michael hit a hard left, aiming for the open back half of what looked like an ordinary shipping truck. He leaped, just as the engine roared to life. Michael dove behind boxes of what should have been filled with SQUIPs, but had been emptied of those and refilled with low-voltage weapons. He grabbed a slingshot and the energy pellets that went with it.

He got four shots off before the truck rounded a corner. Two of the Combats went down. Good enough. He reached out and slammed the doors closed and slumped down in exhaustion.

"Did it work?" a loud voice asked him from the driver's seat. It was Christine.

"Yeah. They'll be busy rebuilding Thirteen for months, at least. SQUIP production's gonna be down for a long time."

"That's...t-that's great. The others are gonna be thrilled."

"I think we have a real chance, you know. The last few hits went off perfectly. And the surgeries are going well too-"

"Everyone we've tried it on has died."

"But Ty said he was making progress. He thinks he's getting closer to a breakthrough. I mean, think about it!" he sat up excitedly, still facing the doors, "We might be able to save everyone!"

"But how many more people are we going to use before then? How many innocent human beings are you going to let die?"

Michael fell silent for a minute. He looked down at his hands and slouched, like a child pouting. He had justified this a million times to himself, but the words that felt so convincing in his head were never quite so strong outside of it. Finally he said, "As many as it takes."

The mood sharpened. He figured Christine would drop it, but instead she pressed on. Her tone was odd actually, a step above her usual restlessness, now more akin to nervousness. "Look I agree with you that we have to do something but maybe you wouldn't be so reckless if it wasn't for, well, you know."

At that Michael froze. He still hadn't turned around, and now he curled in on himself slightly. How dare she? How dare she be right? Because she was, wasn't she? Would he really be pushing human experimentation, all these bombings, if it wasn't for….

 _For him._

He hissed and began to turn, asking "Hey Group Fifteen was supposed to grab another truck for us today. That go alright?" But he sucked in a breath, choking on his words. Christine was in the driver's seat, as usual, facing the road with her hands white around the wheel. Someone else was in the passenger seat, arm extended and holding a blaster up to her temple. It appeared to be a man, all dressed in black, and when he turned to stare back at Michael his glowing blue eyes were visible through the slit in his mask.

"What the f-"

"Don't move," said the Combat, pushing the tip of his blaster further into Christine's hair. He turned back to her and said, "keep driving. Make a left here."

"What is this? Where are we going?" Michael growled, but stayed frozen. His slingshot was just next to him, but he knew that any move he made would cost Christine her life. A mixture of anxiety and anger swirled together in his stomach, threatening to explode out of him. His mind almost seemed to launch itself away from the situation, rejecting it for imaginary scenarios taking place just minutes before. Maybe if he'd turned around earlier. Been smarter. Paid more attention. Maybe if he hadn't put down his weapon he could've been fast enough to take out the Combat before Christine's brain decorated the window. Maybe maybe maybe. But that time had passed and Michael would have to deal with this here and now.

"Answer me coward! Where are we going?"

The Combat spoke, never taking his eyes, or his blaster, off of Christine. "You are to be brought in for questioning and rehabilitation."

"On what grounds?"

A drawn out hiss came from the Combat, annoyed. "You Michael Mell are under arrest by the Corporation for assembly and leadership of unauthorized party, treason, theft, and abduction and murder of several operatives."

"I haven't killed anyone," Michael said lightly, like he wasn't the Corporation's (and therefore the state's) most wanted enemy. It was a stupid tacic, and not really a tactic at all. Just a defense mechanism. But it was something. "Those people were dead the moment your SQUIP buddies were forced into their heads."

He saw Christine tense up, but went on anyway. "Just like that body of yours. It's just a shell. That's what people are to all of you, interchangeable. You can't murder a corpse."

He had hoped his words might have some distracting affect, hoped he could force an opportunity. Instead the Combat turned to him, and his eyes crinkled up in amusement. Michael heard the smile in his voice.

"You wouldn't be doing all this if you truly believed that."

The rest of the ride passed in silence. Christine drove the truck dutifully, whether her hands were shaking from fear or anger was indiscernible. They exited the work sector, passed through the commons, and turned into a stretch of squat grey buildings that was unfamiliar. Michael stayed still in his position the entire time, so that by the time they stopped before one of the buildings his legs were completely numb and his shoulders were screaming.

"Alright everyone out," the Combat growled in an exasperated tone. His gun arm shook and buckled with relief as he finally lowered it. With the other arm he reached over Christine and unlocked her door. Then he shoved her out. Michael heard her land with a painful thump, and a moment later she had opened the doors to the back. The Combat exited and came around to where Michael was shuffling out of the truck. He grabbed him and pulled him out instead.

Michael fell onto his face, legs still asleep, and groaned. He attempted to push himself up and felt a boot on his back, slamming him down again. Then the Combat hoisted him up and pushed him in front. "Walk." Christine was being held beneath his armpit, gun pointed at her head once again. "Walk Mell!"

Michael walked. He walked and while he walked he shoved his hands into the pocket on the front of his hoodie. The cold metal of the slingshot was reassuring. He breathed slowly. Perhaps it wasn't such a tragedy that he had been captured. After all, maybe he could learn something that the Rejects could use. He just had to stay calm. He just-

"CombatSQUIP Two Hundred and Seventy Three," Two other Combats were stationed outside of a building with a set of black double doors.

The Combat escorting Michael and Christine nodded at the acknowledgement, then once again shoved Michael forward. "I captured Mell outside the Corporation building. You've heard of the recent attack."

"Affirmative."

"Corp orders say he's due for rehabilitation in Med six." He gestured to Christine next, "I'm taking her to be resynchronized."

"NO!" For the first time since the brief conversation in the truck, Christine spoke, or rather, screamed. She squirmed out of the Combat's grasp, flinging out her arms and just happening to knock away the blaster. It clattered uselessly onto the ground. And about three seconds later, CombatSQUIP One Hundred and Five also clattered uselessly onto the ground. His partner startled, looking between him and Michael, who was wielding his slingshot.

Christine dropped to her knees, grabbed the fallen blaster, pointed it at Combat Two Hundred and Seventy Three. Back to back, Michael and Christine stood, aiming their weapons at the two remaining Combats. One was unarmed. But the one still at the door was equipped with his own blaster, and he was aiming it right back at Michael.

"Stand down kid."

Michael released the string. Balls of energy shot forward and struck the Combat's chest, wrapping around him instantly with a loud hiss. He dropped his blaster as his body convulsed, and fell in a crumpled heap, still seizing.

And then there was one. Christine fired. Their original escort went down. It was quiet, and they were safe. For a moment, the two stood there, breathing hard. Michael broke out of his daze first, slamming a shoulder through the black doors and yanking Christine inside with him. There he faced her, she seemed fine, then looked around. They were in the entrance of a long, wide hallway, lined with doors on either side.

For now, no one was coming, but that would not stay true forever. Michael racked his brain. The solution was easy. All they needed to do was get back to the truck. They could drive out before anyone noticed. But there was another option too, and this one was a mad and stupid idea, but more tantalizing.

"I want to look around," Michael whispered.

"Are you crazy?"

"This is new ground! We didn't even know this was here! What if we find something important?"

"What do you think you're gonna find here Michael?"

"I...I don't know! But I know that if we leave now, we're never gonna see this place again."

"I remember how we got here. We should leave, come back later with more groups."

"The Combat said there was a rehabilitation room, right here."

"So what?" Christine raised her voice, throwing up her hands. "There are hundreds of them at the main Corporation building!"

"But we haven't been able to get into them. It's been two years and all we've done is set off a few bombs! This is as close as we've ever been."

"Okay so we can come back later!"

 _ZzzzzzzzzaaaAAAPPP!_

The blue blast missed Michael by centimeters. He whirled around, fumbling with his slingshot, and saw a dark mass of Combats rushing through the hall.

"Stay back!" he screamed.

"Mi...Mi...Mich...ael, Micha…"

Michael looked over his shoulder. A gasp pushed out from his throat. Christine was on the ground on her back, ropes of blue light crisscrossing over her chest and face. Her eyes were wide open, pupils dilated with so much pain. A soft stream of foam dribbled down her chin while her body tossed and turned of its own accord, like she was possessed.

"Christ-" he tried to speak her name. But in that second something slammed into his back, not unlike the feeling of being struck with a dodgeball, only the dull impact exploded into searing agony that ate away at his skin, his hair, his clothes, his eyes. He didn't register falling to the ground. And all he could see was blue light, until he finally lost consciousness.

* * *

 **Please review! Tell me your thoughts, I always reply. I'm aiming for about 5 chapters total. Chapter 2 will be up soon!**


	2. Chapter 2

His lips were the last thing she'd felt before the itchy darkness of a burlap sack closed over her head and body. They were soft, and cold, and tasted ever so faintly of metal. And those lips were what she held onto in her mind as her body was dragged across dirt and concrete. She screamed, of course she did.

She screamed and hissed and thrashed around as hard as she could. Her vision went red as her SQUIP went into emergency mode. She could feel it broadcasting waves of distress, telling her not to panic, help was coming. Help was coming.

She knew instinctively who her captors were. Only one group posed a threat to the Corporation. It must have been those awful Rejects. She paused in her struggling to shudder.

"Christine, remain calm. CombatSQUIPS have been contacted and are closing on our location," her SQUIP was a monotone voice of reason, but it was overshadowed by the anxiety welling up in her chest.

Christine pressed one hand over her eyes and the other on her chest, the way she had been conditioned to do. It was supposed to be a calming motion, for when hosts became overemotional. But now it just made her feel more afraid.

"Administering alprazolam."

She'd heard that the Rejects kidnapped children, used them in horrific experiments for no reason other than pleasure. They were dirty uncivilized monsters, who lived in tents on the fringes of society. They had no way to get food out there; the distribution trucks would never cater so far out. So they cannibalized each other instead!

Oh! And now she imagined what they would do to her. Imagined filthy needles poking into her flesh, imagined being lain out on some primitive table for their gruesome feast. Imagined dull teeth gnawing on her arms and legs. Oh! Oh!

Oh….

But the drug was taking effect. Thank Corp for that new upgrade! Christine's breaths grew deeper as it flooded her brain. Within minutes she could not even feel the burlap against her skin. Couldn't hear the muffled shouts of the Rejects around her as they fought off the swarming Combats.

That should have been the end of it there. She would have drifted into artificial bliss until she was freed and returned to her beautiful gated community in the most exclusive, high end neighborhood in the state. It should have all been textbook.

Should have.

But it wasn't.

Instead Christine felt someone (or multiple someones) lifting her up. She felt herself be thrown with surprising force onto some metal platform. And when she landed had her head smashed against the floor. The pain was instant and terrible, but something else was more prominent.

In that moment she knew something was wrong. Something had snapped. A scream bubbled up in her throat but exited her mouth as a slurred mess of groans and grunts. A coldness overcame her body. Something hot and sticky pooled in her hair, stained her cheeks. The metal platform began to roar, then move. There was the realization of being inside some kind of vehicle.

"She's hurt! Drive faster!"

"I told you to be careful!"

"Guys they're tailing us!"

Muffled voices became blurry hands that peeled away the reddened sack. Faces that swam in her eyes. And one face in particular. A face that she knew, and recognized despite the distortion of drugs and pain. A face she couldn't remember ever seeing before, but that in this specific moment made her feel better.

"Michael?"

Then all was dark.

Christine opened her eyes, coming out of the memory. That had been the day she'd joined the Rejects. And...the day when her SQUIP…

"It looks like we're in some kind of containment unit. Escape by force is impossible."

The day her SQUIP had become unsynced with the Corporation's servers. Now it functioned independently, and had proved to be quite committed to the Rejects' cause. As far as Christine knew, most SQUIPS initiated total shutdowns when they were knocked out of sync, that or completely fried themselves and the brains of their hosts.

"I've calculated several possible outcomes and only one of them is positive."

"Thanks Juliet," Christine whispered as the plan bloomed in her mind. Her current location found her in a tight cell with smooth white walls on three sides, the fourth being made of some sort of clear material.

She sat huddled in a corner, looking out to the cell opposite her. It was empty, spotless. Dreadful. But soon she could hear footsteps approaching, and a MedSquip came into view. His status was easily identified by the smile on his face, wide and painful-looking.

Christine cringed a little. Meds had to keep their hosts cheerful all the time, for the sake of bedside manner and all. It was meant to be a nice gesture, but really it was more disquieting.

"Well, how do you do miss? My name is Malcolm! Looks like you have a synchronization issue huh? Well lucky for you that's an easy fix!"

Juliet piped up in Christine's head, "Remember, appeal to the original programming. SQUIPS started as glorified party drugs. We used to only have two goals okay? Get you chill, and get you laid. All of this progress is just modifications on top of the old stuff."

"Got it," Christine muttered. In a louder voice she said, "You have no idea how horrible it's been!" She stood up and walked to the clear wall. "My SQUIP made me join those Rejects. You know, it's true what they say about them. But for the first time in a year, I...I can't hear it."

Malcolm looked surprised. He tapped the wall and a door appeared. "That's odd, you might need something more than a resync then. Gee I hope the Combats didn't make it worse, I know they get a little rough sometimes." He fumbled with something in his pockets, then drew out a pair of handcuffs. He looked up, still grinning, "I'm sorry but this is standard procedure. You seem like a very cooperative girl, but orders are orders!"

"Of course, I would hate to be difficult," Christine placed her weight on the door as it opened, then stepped out slowly and allowed the cuffs to be fastened around her wrists. "Actually this isn't so bad."

"Ha, that's a strange sentiment miss…" Malcolm's voice hitched slightly.

"That's it, Christine. Let's see how well you can act!" Juliet said. Christine didn't reply, instead she stepped closer to Malcolm, tapping his clipboard.

"So how does the procedure work, anyway? I hope it's not too...invasive."

"N-no um...no actually it's just...well It's just a machine, you know? Just knobs and wires."

"Hmm...that's disappointing."

She lowered his clipboard, then pressed her hands on his chest. Malcolm stiffened, staring wide eyed at Christine. She pushed him backwards until they reached the wall of the opposite cell. It was then that Malcolm's smile dropped, then widened again. His eyes refocused slightly.

"Much as I appreciate your excessive cooperation, really this is a professional environment and I-"

Christine closed the distance. His lips were largely different from Jeremy's, save for that metallic taste. No his were thin and cracked and altogether boring. But she gave as much passion as she could rally. Hands still in cuffs, she massaged his chest and worked her way down the abdomen.

At his hips, she moved her thumbs in slow circles, eliciting a short gasp of shock from Malcolm.

"You need to override the SQUIP with the host's feelings. Force it to revert to its original code." Juliet advised.

The clipboard clattered to the floor, forgotten. Christine gently ran her hands around to the side of Malcolm's belt, where a loop of keys was fastened. She undid the knot and quickly placed them onto her own belt before he could notice. She felt his tongue demanding entrance into her mouth. Felt his hands beginning to lift the hem of her dress. He'd even dropped his ever present smile for a hungrier expression.

Then Christine kneed him hard in the crotch. This gasp was not lustful but out of pain, and much louder and squeakier than the first. He fell, holding himself and panting. A puzzled glaze dulled the blue light in his eyes. His SQUIP was confused, which meant it couldn't call for help just yet.

"Sorry Malcolm," Christine said, then she knocked him out with a quick kick. She held up the keys and unlocked the cuffs, pocketing them. She looked down at her latest victim.

Without a second thought she took his badge and lab coat, along with his mask. She tied her hair up into a bun, and for good measure grabbed his glasses too, after knocking out the lenses. From his pocket, she pulled out a small phone and dialed a number.

She was going to find Michael. And she was going to need backup.

…..

Michael woke up on a cold metal surface. Pain thudded in the back of his head and eyes, and his neck felt stiff. Still a little dazed, he tried to look around the darkness that surrounded him. If he squinted, he could just make out the outlines of various machinery and equipment.

Just next to him was a tray piled high with reflective metal objects. And above him was a large arching metal arm that widened into a plate. Some kind of light, he assumed, though it wasn't on. Michael groaned, sitting up.

Only, he couldn't sit up. Something scratchy and hard was wrapped around his chest and neck, his arms and wrists and ankles, his torso. Leather straps! And as his senses sharpened he realized too that his clothes had been taken from him. He could just make out the crumpled hoodie laying on a counter at the back of the room. Instead he was wearing a type of smock that only barely covered him.

Panic and confusion fought for dominance in his mind. He began to thrash, attempting any and all movement: arching his back, twisting his shoulders, kicking his legs. Useless. The straps held fast. They bit into his skin painfully, and Michael started to scream.

A door that he hadn't noticed before slammed open. A herd of MedSQUIPS came rushing inside, all carrying clipboards and smiling. One clapped a latex hand over Michael's mouth while another turned on the light. Michael was silence by the blinding white glare that now commandeered his focus. He squinted, even closed his eyes. But the light penetrated everything.

"Oomf! Rrrrgh! GAAH!" his cries were muffled. The Med removed his hand for a moment and Michael hissed, "You can't do this to me!"

"Actually we have every legal right to perform this operation!" said a Med with very prominent buck-teeth. "You see sir, it is considered illegal and treasonous conduct for any citizen to avoid being assigned a SQUIP. And boy are you late on treatment!"

"I thought you bastards came in tic tacs."

Buck-Teeth dropped his smile for just a second, before reclaiming and widening it significantly. "Pills are the preferred method of implantation, you're correct. But I'm afraid that sort of luxury is only available to cooperative citizens! You are a criminal Michael Mell, and will be receiving your SQUIP a little more...directly."

On his cue two Meds came forth holding a plastic mask which they placed squarely over Michael's mouth and nose. He panicked, screeching and tossing his head as much as he could. His fingers curled into claws, as did his toes. His curses fogged up the mask and heated it, sweat acting as glue to keep it tight. This wasn't happening. There was no way this was happening.

"Please try to relax sir, I haven't even turned on the mask."

"NO! NO! NOOO!" Michael wailed, throat quickly going raw. Saliva further soiled the mask, flying from his lips and coating his teeth. There had to be a way. There had to be someone. Christine! He wondered what they'd done to Christine. He couldn't remember what the Combat had said about her. Oh God what if they had hurt her.

What if they had hurt her!

"Bastards! Sons of...LET ME GO! I'LL KILL YOU!"

"Administering anesthesia, please check tools."

"NO!"

"Scalpel."

"Check."

"STOP!"

"Syringe A."

"Check"

"Syringe B."

"Check."

"AARGG NO!"

"Mirrors."

"Check."

"Tape."

"Check."

"Stop! You...Please! No!"

"Gauze."

"Check."

"Wire."

"Check."

"Razor."

"Check."

"N-n-nooo…"

"Cotton."

"Please…"

"Check."

"Alright then. Please relax, count backwards from ten. You may feel a slight discomfort now."

Michael panted, unable to formulate another plea. His vision was starting to blur. That white light seemed less harsh now. He barely processed the motion of a Med moving behind his head. The operating table being inclined slightly. As he drifted away he imagined a new world for himself, one where maybe none of this had ever happened.

One where he hadn't been captured. Where he'd never formed the Rejects. Where the Corporation had never taken power and SQUIP was just a funny word. And drifted back to that moment, sitting on a beanbag in a familiar house, playing a stupid game with his favorite person in the universe. A computer chip that could make you cool? Ha! That was ridiculous.

He told Jeremy that, and they unpaused the screen. And when they went to the mall that weekend they never stopped at Payless. Never bought that first SQUIP. Instead Jeremy spent the money on a new, even dumber game, and they went home and played it until midnight. And there were slushies and mountain dews and there was popcorn and candy. Michael floated there, in his fantasy.

He didn't even feel the sharp edge of the scalpel carving a hole into his head.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi! I just wanted to preface this chapter with a bit of a warning. This chapter contains some mature content of /intimate/ nature. Nothing terribly explicit, but still visible. If you don't want to read this chapter, I'll be putting up a recap at the beginning of the next chapter (chapter 4).**

 **But if you don't read it, you'll miss some sweet character development. Anyway that's my little piece. Thank you for reading! Please review, I do read all of them and appreciate them very much.**

 **...**

The day was bright and warm, an unseen sun kissing the skin of each resident in the community. Cheery white picket fences wrapped around cookie-cutter homes of pastel pinks and blues and yellows. On one lawn, a small brown dog lounged in the grass, tongue lolling from his parted jaw. He rolled onto his back when the door to the house opened and out stepped his masters.

"Hey buddy, whatcha doing?" said Jeremy, bending down and scratching the dog's soft belly. Michael grinned, handing him a glass of lemonade and sitting down next to him. He took in every detail of his friend. The way his skin glowed in the light. How strands of unruly hair stuck up comically from his head. He paid attention to the slope of his nose and how he covered his mouth when he laughed.

"It's a beautiful day, what do you wanna do?" Jeremy asked him.

"We could go swimming. The water must be great right now."

"Excellent! Oh and Jake's having a party tonight."

"Yeah, at six right?" Michael asked. Jeremy nodded his confirmation. They both stood again and made their way towards the gate. But before they reached it the door to the house opened once again and a woman stepped out. Her auburn hair was long and unruly, and her nose sloped steeply to a point. A frilly apron concealed her clothes and a brilliant smile dominated her face. Michael waved at the beautiful woman.

"Hey Mrs. Heere! We're going to the pool!"

"Alright boys, have fun! I've just made cookies! They'll be on the counter when you get back."

"Thanks Mom!" Jeremy shouted over his shoulder. The gate shut behind them. As they walked Michael reached into his pockets, searching for his headphones. His fingers found nothing and instantly he shuddered at the motion. A voice in his head that sounded like his own soothed him quickly. The headphones weren't there because they'd never been there, of course. And wasn't it much better like that, without something so antisocial as headphones. He removed his hands from his pockets and smiled pleasantly.

"Do you think he'll play Eminem?" he asked Jeremy.

"Jake? I hope so!"

Squirrels skittered past their ankles. They passed a man watering his roses; he waved at the pair. Light music played from various houses. Everywhere were couples sitting out on their lawns, some cloud-gazing, some just talking and drinking, and a few sprawled out on top of eachother. Sounds of love echoed around the neighborhood. Michael spotted a group of four all engaging each other on a porch. He waved and one of them waved back.

They walked a little while longer before reaching the pool. Here in front of them was a massive expanse of water ringed by comfy reclining chairs and umbrellas. Michael and Jeremy slipped their cards into a slot on the gate and waited about ten seconds.

"Amount paid. Thank you for your recreation."

The cards came shooting back out and they entered the pool. Clothes were peeled away and discarded on a chair, then they lowered themselves into the water. It was perfect. Michael sighed in contentment. He floated on his back, closing his eyes. Pure joy bloomed in his chest. Today was everything.

Only a few minutes had passed, however, when he heard someone shouting. He opened his eyes and saw Rich on the other end of the pool. He was being swarmed by lifeguards trying to get him out, but he just thrashed in their grip and kept slamming his face down into the water. A lifeguard finally grabbed him and hoisted him higher.

He screamed, "I can't stand this anymore! Let me do it! Just let me go!" He caught Michael staring and pointed at him as he was dragged out of the pool. "You! You have to see it! You're Mell! You've come to save us! You have to save us! You have to understand! We're being controlled!"

He convulsed and fell to the hard pavement. Blood exploded from his nose and some even landed in the pool. The lifeguard who'd dropped him pounded a fist into his head. Rich went limp and was once again dragged away, a trail of blood in his wake.

"That was funny," Jeremy said when Rich was out of sight. Michael turned to him.

"What was?"

"When...Oh you know what, I dunno. I forgot."

"You wanna play volleyball?"

"Hell yeah!"

They hung out at the pool for a few hours more before returning home to change and get ready for Jake's party. Michael sat at the island, chewing on a cookie.

"I'm ready! Let's go!" Jeremy jumped down the stairs.

"Don't forget to say bye to your father," Mrs. Heere said from the kitchen. The boys nodded and stopped in the living room. It was a large space, with a fireplace and shelves of books with no words. Michael shuddered again. What a weird thing to notice, he thought. Of course the books wouldn't have words. Reading was antisocial.

Sitting in an armchair by the fireplace was Mr. Heere. He stared blankly at the ground when they entered.

"Bye Dad, we're going to Jake's," said Jeremy. His dad didn't reply. A bit of drool rolled down his cheeks. "Okay, now let's go."

They went.

The house was already bursting when they arrived. Every kid in the neighborhood was in attendance. Bright strobe lights and loud music set the scene for the hundreds of bodies all pressed together. Two guys were stationed at the door, checking all bottles for the Corporation's updated stamp of approval. Any unauthorized alcohol would be destroyed and its bringers would be persecuted.

Everyone had cups in their hands. In the corner, a game of twister had turned intimate. Michael recognized Brooke and Jenna in the tangle of limbs.

"That looks like fun, let's join in," Jeremy said.

"Totally!"

The boys were welcomed by the twister group with open arms. Hands explored everything. Soft mews inspired further actions. Lips were foreign but confident. Michael rolled off of some girl he didn't know and ended up in Jeremy's lap. The group seemed to close in tighter, but he didn't mind. Here he felt outside of himself, like he was part of something bigger. Mindless, he leaned into every touch and bounced to the intoxicating rhythm of the crowd. Someone pulled his hair. Another one lifted his shirt. Fingers danced around his belt. Michael found himself experiencing something more than just lust or pleasure, but triumph. The voice in his head commended him for this act.

The next day was just as warm. The sky just as blue. The clouds in the same position.

"I want to go swimming," Michael said, and jeremy agreed. They walked. Squirrels ran past their ankles. They passed the man watering his roses, and waved. The same group of four copulated on the porch. The two arrived at the pool and sank into the water that was just as perfect as before.

Rich was there, and this time he swam up to them holding a volleyball. A bandage held his nose together, but he didn't seem bothered by it. They played a few games, then Jeremy and Michael went back to the house.

"These cookies are great Mrs. Heere."

"Michael come on! We're going to be late!"

"Not so fast boys, make sure you say goodbye to your father Jeremy."

"Bye dad!"

Brooke was really quite pneumatic. Michael took full advantage of her plushness, pressing himself against her and pushing her hips close to his.

Another warm day. The squirrels passed them on their way to the pool. The man's roses were starting to wilt. The foursome on the porch grew louder. The water was heavenly. The volleyball was great.

"Bye Dad!"

Strings of saliva decorated Mr. Heere's face. His head slumped forward and his shoulders sagged. Michael's eyes lingered on him. A feeling like nausea entered his gut, but was ushered away by the voice in his head as quickly as it came.

Jeremy surrounded Michael during twister. They moved in sync with each other and with the group. Their bodies and minds melted together. But somewhere buried beneath the heat and passion and arousal was a twinge of guilt.

Reset to a new day, glorious in every aspect. Michael wondered who was feeding the dog that always sat outside. Squirrels. Drowned roses. Sex. The pool.

"Mr. Heere are you alright?"

No answer. Never an answer. Jake's house. Lights and Corporate booze.

"I see Brooke and Jenna, come on!" said Jeremy.

"I...I don't know…"

"Don't know what? Come on! Let's have fun!"

The group moved up and down, back and forth, but Michael couldn't quite match it.

Such a beautiful day. But was Jeremy's dog always white like that? And so big? The squirrels almost seemed to shine in the light. Water overflowed from the rose pot. The porch reeked.

"Mr. Heere, I...I think something is wrong here."

"Michael I'm waiting for you come on!"

Brooke and Jenna waved them over. Michael stepped backwards. A sense of embarrassment took him. He didn't want this. But Jeremy dragged him by the wrist to the time the hands that touched him felt more like claws. And the lips tasted like metal. His belt was undone but he did nothing. He let the lips close around him. Let them press and lick. He let it happen. The voice in his head told him to just, let it happen. A new feeling. Fear.

"Mr. Heere, please. I need you to say something!"

"He can't say anything." Michael felt long fingers on his shoulder. He turned around to see Mrs. Heere standing behind him, smiling like she always did. He realized that he no longer found her very beautiful.

The voice in his head was going wild, telling him to just shut up and behave. Shut up and behave. Shut up and behave. Michael's tongue went numb. He felt dizzy.

"Dude come on, we're going to be late," Jeremy stood by the door, seemingly unfazed by the events in the living room. Michael stared at him, feeling...betrayed? Why wasn't Jeremy helping him?

But...what was there to help with? He couldn't remember what was wrong. No. No! Get out of my head!

"Mr. Heere didn't really bond with his SQUIP the way us normal people did. So we had to shut him down. You don't need a shut down though, right Michael?" Mrs. Heere chirped.

"I…" he felt sick. He found himself walking to join Jeremy by the door. "No of course not Mrs. Heere. Thanks for the cookies!"

They walked to Jake's house. Michael lay beneath Jeremy, looking up at him as those hips pushed down into his, and he was bounced slowly then quickly. Slowly, then quickly. Jeremy was clearly enraptured by the moment, occasionally uttering loud moans and curses. Sweat poured down his nose. But Michael felt nothing. He was cold, numb to all sensations. He watched it happen. Just watched. And while he watched he heard a faint rumbling sound. His attention zoned in on it. It sounded faintly like an engine. And it was coming closer. Getting louder. He quickly looked around, but from his limited vantage it seemed no one else was hearing it.

In fact everyone else was too caught up in their own intimacies to pay attention. Michael raised his head slightly, looking behind Jeremy, at the door. Wait...was the house...shaking?

Because it certainly felt like it and that noise was certainly getting louder and now that he thought about it maybe he should get up and warn someone. But he didn't. And Michael just lay there and waited until the door, and surrounding wall, was suddenly thrown forward with an astounding crash.

He couldn't tell if he screamed or not when the wall landed on top of them. He was only vaguely aware of the blood that was pouring...pouring from somewhere around him. Was it coming from him? No pain even registered, in fact, but he could feel the voice in his head furiously broadcasting distress waves. Michael tried to blink away the redness that dripped into (or from?) his eyes. Through cracks in the debris around him, he could just make out the front of a truck, wheels still spinning in midair as it stalled halfway into the house.

And through the windshield he saw a girl with short black hair and a determined look in her eyes. She spotted him and mouthed his name as dozens of kids of all ages wearing shiny red patches stormed out of the truck, and into the house.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the hiatus, also this chapter is slightly shorter than usual. It's finals season and I'm getting absolutely slammed! I can't wait until the year ends. Anyway here's the next chapter. Only one more left!**

* * *

Lights. Smothering lights. And so much pain. Icy tendrils of pain stretching out further and further to every corner of his brain. And somehow through the lights and noise and pain it was also dark and silent and numb. He was floating, suspended in some void. His lungs heaved and bucked under the pressure around him. It...It was _suffocating_ him. He tried to breathe. Tried to move or see or feel anything other than the oppressive nothingness.

A thick something clogged his throat and eyes. He was being torn apart slowly, then put back together over and over and over again. He could not form thoughts. Instinct alone screamed at him to get out. Get out! Get out!

A frankensteinian mash of every binary imaginable. He was nothing and everything. Experiencing agony and calm. Not moving, but being flung around in a mad whirl. And it hurt. His only thought.

It hurt so much.

Michael plummeted. Felt his body falling faster and faster until it was less of a drop and more like he was being pulled by an invisible hand. And as he sank the pain sharpened, centralized in his head. The darkness melted into red light. Then blue. Then yellow, green, purple, teal, colors he didn't even have a name for. Spiraling. Just spiraling down, down, down.

Getting heavier too. He became a meteor crashing towards a lightshow. Burning up in the atmosphere. Hotter and heavier and faster.

At the end he accelerated one final time, abruptly, like he was being suddenly yanked down.

"NO!"

And he was awake.

"NO! NO! NOOO!" the word ripped from his throat. He couldn't see just yet, but the colors of the space were slowly dissolving into shapes.

"Michael! Whoa hey, Michael calm down!"

Soft hands pushed him down into the bed. He blinked furiously, still roaring out incomprehensible noise. He squinted, and saw Christine come into focus. Almost instantly, he relaxed.

"Christine? Where…"

"You're safe now. It's okay," she sounded shocked, but happy.

He looked into her eyes and waited for the rest of the world to catch up. He was back at homebase, in one of the medical rooms.

The Rejects operated out of an old hospital, abandoned after an outbreak of the common cold. The SQUIPS were miracles of technology, but their hosts could not withstand diseases like normal people. Something in the chips.

He recognized this room as a surgical chamber specifically, and glimpsed the set of bloody tools on a tray next to him. "What did you-"

"We did it!" Christine placed both hands on his shoulders now, her smile eclipsing everything. "Your SQUIP! We...we got it out Michael! And you're okay!"

The news jogged his memory, and he remembered now the little gated community. He realized with a chill that he did not know how long he had been trapped there. Christine must have seen it on his face because she took her arms away and clasped her hands together.

"I'm sorry we couldn't get you sooner. I tried to come back to those bunkers, but they had already moved you. By the time we got your location...well and then we had to wait for an opportunity…"

He stayed silent, staring up at her.

"You were gone for almost a month," she exhaled deeply for a moment, then her arms started waving excitedly again as if trying to brush away the unpleasantness of her words. "But don't think about that! I mean, Michael you were right! The guys figured it out, they, they got your SQUIP out without...without _killing_ you! You were right!"

Michael took a breath, and slowly reached up his hand. He touched his chest, and felt the gauze their keeping his wounds together. Then higher, to his forehead, and he felt the same material wrapping around his head and down under his chin. Tufts of hair poked out from beneath the bandages.

"Yeah, you might want to wear a beanie or something for a little while," Christine giggled, handing him a mirror.

Michael looked himself over. He was definitely missing some hair...okay... _a lot_ of hair. But it was a fair job considering the oldest medic on their team, Tyler, was just nineteen. He stared a little longer. Cuts and bruises littered his face, becoming wider towards his neck and chest. His eyes were bloodshot. His nose was running. He looked like hell but laughed anyway.

"I don't know how much a beanie's gonna do for me."

"Well ski masks are back in fashion."

"Right thanks."

"Seriously, it could be an improvement," Christine said.

"If I wanted to rob a bank." Michael handed the mirror back, grinning. Christine laughed, then patted the foot of the bed.

"Hey look, I know I can't stop you from going all Jake from Animorphs out there, but at least give it a few hours before you rally the troops. Okay?"

"Okay."

And he did, but after half a day of dozing he was done with lying around. Inch by inch, he got up, grabbed some clothes that had obviously been left out for him, and tried walking around. It was harder than he expected, but if he went slowly and leaned slightly he was able to alleviate the worst of it.

He made it to the end of the hallway and wished he was back in bed. He was leaning against the wall gasping when Tyler rounded the corner with a wheelchair. He stopped abruptly, surprised.

"God, dude, I almost ran you over!" he sputtered, then on seeing Michael's condition he quickly forced him into the chair. "Christine said to come get you. We...well I don't want to ruin the surprise."

"What...surprise?" Michael panted.

"You'll see. Hang tight." With a recklessness slightly concerning for one who was supposed to be a doctor, Tyler sped down the hall with Michael, chattering all the way. "So I mean, can you believe it? I don't want to bum you out or anything but I was sure I'd kill you man. Like, I didn't even do that much different than what I usually do. All I changed was the size of the scalpel, and I added more alcohol to the solvent.

"You should have seen us, crying all ugly while putting on our gloves and masks. Garrett didn't even want to do it, I had to force the tweezers into his hands. Kept saying he didn't want to be responsible for your murder. But I told him he's the most scientific one of all of us, we needed him. Honestly though I just didn't want to kill you by myself. I thought maybe it'd be better if we all shared the blame. But dude, like, I'm so freaking happy you're alive! You can't even imagine!"

"I can probably imagine," Michael chuckled. "You guys did a good job."

Tyler hummed. "Well, let's hope we can do it again." And with that he wheeled Michael into another surgical room. This one was bigger, and crammed with Rejects. Whispers and murmurs provided a soundtrack, quieting only slightly when Michael entered.

He received many more well wishes and excited outbursts that he was, in fact, very much alive. Christine was there too, standing over by the bed. Michael could see that someone was in it, but from his low position could not quite see who it was. Scattered around were various tools and ragtag pieces of equipment. A few bottles of homemade solvent stood at attention on a shelf. Spools of gauze and tape had been neatly arranged next to them.

A few kids of all different ages were huddled around Christine and the bed. They all wore holey gloves and bad imitations of labcoats, a few simply wore art smocks. The youngest was a twelve year old girl with braids, Taiya. Michael spotted Garrett nervously hovering around the fringes of the group, saying a few words and then checking the supplies against his list, and repeating this over again.

Tyler walked to join them, and finally they all acknowledged Michael.

"Hey boss," Taiya beamed at him.

"What's going on?" Michael asked. Christine looked like she was about to speak, when Tyler beat her to it.

"When they brought you back man, they grabbed another guy too. Christine was real adamant about it. We just prepped him for operating. She says you used to know him, a good friend of yours. And since it worked with you, I mean, I really think there's a good shot here of restoring your buddy back to normal."

Michael said nothing at this. He couldn't. Instead he slowly lifted himself from the wheelchair, not daring to look until he was at his full height. In the bed was a teenage boy with a sharp nose and mischievous brown hair. Michael's breath caught in his throat.

"Jeremy…"

"Everything's ready to go dude. On your word," Tyler called.

Michael stared at the boy in the bed. Stared at his best friend. He thought about all the things they'd done over the last month and felt sick for a moment. But maybe once Jeremy, the _real_ Jeremy, was back, they could talk about it. Maybe they could overcome those things. He let himself believe they could, because right now his heart was beating right out of his chest and all he wanted in the world was to have his special person back.

His chest constricted and he felt a stupid grin spreading over his face. After two years, finally it was happening. He exhaled shakily and patted the bed.

"I'm gonna save you bro," he whispered. Then he turned to Tyler and nodded. "Do it."


	5. Chapter 5

**Well, it's finally here. The final chapter. Because I had to cut the last one slightly short this chapter actually ran a lot longer than it was supposed to. I debated cutting it into two chapters, or maybe one long-ish one and an epilogue. But in the end I decided to just get this done and give you guys all of it at once. Thank you to everyone who has read and especially to you wonderful people who have taken the time to review. I read all of them and appreciated them so much. (Also finals went great, and I just started summer break!)**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

"You need to stop shaking like that, you'll rip your stitches."

"What? Oh yeah let me just flip the right switch!"

"Just, calm down. Hey, Michael? Calm down."

"What if it doesn't work? Or, or, I don't know, what if he doesn't remember me? What if Tyler kills him!? I mean...God, I wish it wasn't taking so long!" Michael paced back and forth in his small room. Christine was perched on the bed, chewing a twizzler.

"It's going to work, okay? It worked on you and it'll work on Jeremy. Just come sit down."

"No," Michael wheezed. But even he recognized his poor condition. With a reluctant huff he sank next to Christine. She ripped off the bottom of the twizzler and offered it to him. Michael gnawed on it like it was personally responsible for putting a SQUIP in Jeremy's head. "I just...I need him to be okay."

"And he will be. Hey," Christine got up and walked to the closet, pulling the old door open in one swoop. It used to be a medical closet, small and cramped and populated by dusty shelves. But on each shelf sat a folded hoodie, each in slightly different shades of red. It was a hilariously cartoonish arrangement, but one Michael was proud of.

Christine dug through the piles, some were too big and others too small. A couple had bullet holes and burn marks. Michael always had a story for each one. From raiding a Walmart. From a Squipped teenager downtown. From a dumpster. From a park bench. But she moved all of those aside until she found the one she was looking for.

She carefully pulled out the original hoodie from two years ago, the only one in the bunch to not have a Rejects pin. It was sacred; Michael never wore it on missions. But the tattered garment was always present during celebrations and important events. It was a symbol of his leadership. His crown. And she presented it to him as such.

"Everything's going to be fine."

Michael blinked hard and took it, rubbing his thumb over the fabric. It was relatively well preserved, but its age clearly showed. A few holes were present at the sleeves from the moth infestation they'd had last year, and patches of it were discolored from mold. He balled it up and held it to his chest, breathing hard. "I'm so scared."

"I know. Me too."

"There are so many things I want to tell him," Michael's voice was distant to his own ears. "I want to apologize for being such an idiot. For just going along with him all the time. A good best friend would tell you if you were doing something wrong. I should never have let him get that SQUIP. And I should have woken up sooner when I was with him before. No…" he shook his head, "No I did wake up. But I still let him...I let him convince me to...we still….That never should have happened. He wasn't even aware of it but I was and I should have…"

"Do you want to talk about what happened there? You never told me."

"No." It came out too forceful. Too quickly. He lowered his voice, "No I can't yet. You know, I just had so many chances to stop him. Before the play, his dad came to me and told me I should talk to him. I should have. But I just sat there on my porch and burned a picture of us and I wish I hadn't done that because I fucking loved that picture and I fucking loved Jeremy and now it's my fault that our world is so screwed up!"

Christine moved closer to him and drew her knees up. She let the silence stretch for nearly a minute before she spoke. "Juliet says it's not your fault. Jeremy's SQUIP would have just found its way to some other kid. And he would have started all of this up. What matters right now is that we found him, and we're going to make sure we save him."

"But what if-"

"No what ifs. It's been two years of fighting. Of killing people and watching our friends get killed and moving one step forward two steps backward. We earned this. We finally got a win. Why can't you accept that?"

"I'll accept it when I see it."

"I'm sure it'll work," Christine said quietly.

Michael only squeezed the hoodie tighter and hissed, "How?"

She laughed and looked up at the ceiling. "Because it's too quiet. If anything was going wrong Garrett would have already sprinted out of the room to throw up. And you could hear Tyler screaming at his team across the whole campus."

Her words were true. Michael listened for a moment. It was quiet. Completely quiet. A small spark of hope lifted in his chest. He leaned back into the pillow and closed his eyes to block out the tears. His hands still tangled the red fabric. He tried to breathe.

"I need him to be okay," he repeated in a whisper.

Michael's room was a small one. It was an old checkup room in the pediatrics wing. The bed was two hospital beds duct taped together with the barriers removed. When the Rejects first found the hospital, there had been a few cans of leftover paint from the children's ward. Pinks, and pale blues. Yellows and greens.

They had separated them as well as they could, with the younger kids having first pick. Michael had scraped up the remains of some yellow and blue in an attempt to make his room less sterile. He had succeeded in covering a few bricks and that was about it, but it helped.

The rest of the walls were covered in cutouts from newspapers, magazines, books rescued from library burnings. Drawings from the younger kids were taped around the door. Post-it notes and crayon scribbles.

A torn rug hugged the floor, its hairs sticky and too rigid to be considered comfortable, but it was enough.

The room was cramped, but it was enough. It was his and it was safety. Michael sank into it, drawing strength from it, half hoping he could hide there forever.

He felt the bed sink and shift and knew Christine was lying next to him.

"Thanks for being here," he murmured. She hummed in response. He was so grateful for her. All this time, he didn't know how he could have managed without her. Or what he would have done if her SQUIP hadn't malfunctioned like it had.

It would be her in that operating room, and back then their medics had almost no experience. He swallowed hard. She would have died.

But she didn't.

And neither would Jeremy.

Of course.

Another deep breath, and another. Michael tried to clear his mind, and succeeded at least partially. Christine tugged his sleeve.

"Hey let's grab something to eat."

Michael let go of the hoodie and the pair got up and exited the room. Michael looked back on it a little sadly, before closing the door. They slowly walked down the hallway to the cafeteria.

It was the biggest space in the place, used for everything from meetings to dinners to barracks. A couple of tables still had blankets and pillows. A few had been pushed against the walls with blankets draped on top to form tents.

And still more had been fashioned into slides and janky monkey bars and jungle gyms. A group of kids was playing tag across the makeshift playground, and Michael couldn't help but smile.

He followed Christine to the front of the room, where the cooks usually were. The stalls were empty but a few plates had been left on the counters. Michael grabbed a muffin and Christine took the last piece of a chocolate cake.

They ate in a comfortable silence, broken only by the excited squeals of children. One of them fell into one of the tents and knocked the table down. An older girl appeared from the rubble, furious, and chased them all away, then set to rebuilding her zone.

Eventually, enough was enough. Michael wanted to check on the operation. They left the cafeteria and started back up the hall. "It should be done by now," Michael was saying. He had to say he was feeling better about things. At least, he felt like he could breathe more easily, and his steps were lighter.

"You took about six hours. It's only been five so far," Christine reasoned. "And you know Tyler hates being inter-"

A girl in glasses rushed up to them, holding a tablet, nearly falling over in her haste. "Sir!"

"Eriko? What's going on, is the operation alright?"

She blinked, startled, then shook her head furiously. "No, I mean, I don't know anything about the operation."

"Then what is it?"

"I, I don't know how but they got our signal! The Corporation is calling. The director wants to speak with you immediately!"

Michael glanced at Christine in shock. She just gazed back, eyes wide. Michael's mouth was open and stuttering before he even knew what to say.

"C-can...can you tell him to wait?" The question was stupid to his own ears. One did not simply tell the director of the Corporation to wait. Michael dropped his head in his hands, groaning. He felt remarkably like a kid. "No you know what, I'll talk to him. Just...I don't know. Can I check on Jeremy first? What does he want?"

Eriko shrugged, looking between Michael and the tablet.

"Can they track us Eriko?" Christine asked.

"I don't think so. Erm, not permanently. I turned off the router before they could see too much, they're just tracking this tablet now. Once it's destroyed they won't have anything to track but that means you should probably take the call pretty quickly sir!"

Michael was panicking. He looked longingly down the hall, tangling his hands in his hair. "Y-yeah okay, just give me the tabl-"

"MOVE!"

Michael suddenly found himself being violently shoved to the side as Garrett barrelled just past him. He got his balance just before meeting the floor and looked back. "What the hell?"

But Garrett didn't respond, instead diving for the bin and burying his head in it. Loud gagging and heaving filled the space, accompanied by a heavy plop and a sloshing sound as the boy vomited.

Michael didn't even have time to process this when he heard a different sound come from the OR.

"GIVE ME THE COTTON! SOMEBODY HOLD HIM DOWN! GOOD GRIEF CAN'T YOU IDIOTS MOVE ANY FASTER WE'RE LOSING HIM!" Tyler's voice was raw and shrill, screeching garbled orders at his crew. "WHERE THE FUCK IS GARRETT?!"

"Oh my god," Christine breathed.

But Michael was already sprinting towards the operating room. He made it across the hall in seconds, arms outstretched, and burst through the double doors.

He saw Tyler's head snap to the side and his eyes narrow in anger before realizing who had just come in.

"No no no! You need to go!"

Michael ignored him and came up to the bed, wheezing and feeling blood trickle down his chest.

Jeremy was there, but his eyes were fluttering open and flashing blue. Foam oozed from the corners of his lips, tumbled down his chin. His arms and legs flailed wildly, smacking the bed and lifting up again. Hands grasped at nothing and everything. Nails dug into palms, drawing blood.

He was screaming. And it was a horrible animalistic sound. His back arched completely off the bed, shivering and shaking as several medics attempted to hold him down. A metal band had been placed around his forehead, but with the movement Michael could see the skin around and under it turning red.

Tyler was positioned at the back of his head, face flushed and eyes twitching. His gloves were stained with blood, and in fact Michael could see just how much blood was rushing out of Jeremy's skull.

He was trying to soak it up with cotton and towels and anything the nurses handed him, but it seemed futile.

Michael's head started to pound and he realized it was because of the intensity of the blue lights stretching from Jeremy's eyes.

"What's happening?" Michael roared. But he knew. He had seen it multiple times before, on countless test subjects.

"I don't know! He started seizing right after extraction!" Tyler sounded close to tears. He gestured to the table, where a small chunk of brain matter, glowing blue with the microtech still crammed inside, lay waiting.

"Michael sir! You have to come outside the director wants-"

"NOT NOW ERIKO!" Michael turned on the girl and he must have looked half mad to make her cower so. He didn't care. He whipped back to Jeremy. "How can I help?"

"Man you really can't be h-"

"Tyler how can I help!" It was no longer a question, but an order.

"Just grab him! I can't stitch him up with him moving so much!"

Michael did as he was told, pressing down on Jeremy's legs. As soon as he had a good grip one of the legs jerked upward and Michael both heard and felt the pop of the knee freeing itself from whatever connected it to the shin.

"I know, I know," Tyler was yelling, "But don't let go!"

But Michael couldn't take it. He let go and stumbled back, thinking of Garrett as his own stomach did a somersault. He felt hands pulling him out of the room and was vaguely aware of himself screaming.

A tablet was forced into his hands once outside, and through tears he saw a fat, shiny face grinning at him.

"Ah, seems I've caught you at a bad moment, the great Michael Mell," the director's voice was ice. "I know one of ours is currently in your possession, yes? Tell me, how is Mr. Heere?"

"Tell me how to fix him! Tell me or I'll blow your whole fucking city to the moon!" Michael's threat was almost lost between sobs.

"Well that's why I called, you see. Mr. Heere is essentially our founder, and though we've reprogrammed him to be less... _dominant_...he is still a lovely icon. You could save his life. All you need to do is deliver him to us."

"You won't save him!" Michael spat. "You'll just put another one in him! JUST TELL ME HOW TO FIX HIM!"

"I just did."

"NO! No it worked on me! It did! Why not him!"

"Oh, well it's really very simple Mr. Mell. Your SQUIP had only been in for a few weeks, and my sources were telling me that it was failing anyway. You know what I mean. You weren't exactly...in sync, with it. But Mr. Heere, well, he's had his for years now. It's become a part of him. His brain can't survive without it anymore. There really is no way to save your friend the way you want to."

"You're lying!"

"I am not."

Michael's next words were unintelligible as he threw himself to the ground. His fear was being replaced by anger, and not having any outlet it manifested as a shaking. Through gritted teeth he hissed, "You can't have him."

"Well that's up to you. I assumed you cared about whether he lives or dies, which is why I am making this gracious offer to you. And actually," the director chuckled, "because I am being more than fair to your and your band of misfits, I'm going to amend my proposition."

"We've got him stable for now Michael, but he's not gonna make it much longer," a boy called from the OR.

Michael nodded at him then turned back to the tablet. "Speak."

"You must understand, we do want Mr. Heere back. But in the end, what's one more dead kid in a city of thousands? I really think you should provide an incentive for saving his life."

"What the h-"

"Deliver Mr. Heere to us, and turn yourself in. And in return we will revive him, and make sure your next SQUIP is much more compatible, and you will both live together in the Community. You'll be happy. And isn't that all anyone wants to be, Mr. Mell?"

"You're disgusting."

"You'll be so very happy," the director repeated, "just like everyone else. Or, you could continue your fruitless vigilantism with one more tally on your body count. Our trucks will be waiting outside building four, until midnight. Tick tock."

The screen went black, and Michael didn't even process Eriko ripping the tablet away from him and smashing it against the wall.

He didn't feel the hands on his shoulders or hear the words. Didn't feel any pain from where his stitches had burst. Because he was very suddenly beyond feelings. Because in that moment, that single instance of indecision and every implication that brought, he simply _was._

Michael was pain and rage and terror and shock all at once, less boy and more energy, all dangerously contained beneath just one more red hoodie. Because how dare it? How dare the world do this to him? When he was so _fucking close_! When his best friend was one door away and he almost had everything he'd been working towards for two solid years of death and shitty morals and poor planning and not knowing how to be a leader but trying his hardest to be something close to it.

When everything was almost justified.

How fucking dare it?

And how dare this adult, this figure who was a much better leader, laugh at him? Like his campaign had meant nothing. But really...well, had it? Wasn't he just an annoyance, a persistent mosquito only alive because no one had bothered to kill him yet?

He became one more thing: despair.

Michael walked back into the operating room, where the doctors—no, not doctors, _children_ —were strewn about the floor, faces flushed. Tyler was the last one standing, still positioned at Jeremy's head, now clumsily stitched up. A heart monitor was set up next to him and from the way Tyler winced each second it was probably incredibly obnoxious. But just as well, Michael couldn't hear it.

"Put it back," the words were more than that. They were projections of this Michael-shaped energy overpowering the small room. Few but incredibly profound. Quiet, but devastating.

"I don't…" Tyler's voice was far away, "I don't want to...I don't know how...What if-"

"Send Garrett to update me," Michael ignored him outright, then walked back out. Probably, he walked past Christine, and Eriko, and Garrett. Probably, but if he did he didn't see them.

He walked for a long time, sometimes keeping straight, others randomly switching direction. They had found their signal so easily. So quickly. And the director had only laughed.

Just mosquitoes. Just ants. Dozens of ants with distinct personalities and friend groups and birthdays and favorite colors and favorite animals—some sensitive and some hardened, with hope and without—so many ants too young to understand that their world was doomed. Ants who looked up to him. Ants that had always detested Michael, for making their organization to fulfil his own quest, but that had nowhere else to go.

He walked on, through corridors that used to be busy with the activities of real doctors and real nurses. Actual qualified people in a world that still made sense.

And he thought about his favorite sci-fi flicks. His favorite books. Where kids could rise up to defeat entire orders over the course of a few months. They made it look so easy, safe between pages. But the world wasn't meant for kids. It was built by and for the giants, and Michael was so incredibly small right now.

He kept walking even as tears blurred his vision. He hadn't meant to end up here, but here he was, approaching the back doors. He stepped out into watery sunlight, grey and cold. Dead grass crunched beneath his shoes.

He forced himself to step forward, over the wilting roses and naked dandelions. The air stank of sweetness, ripe with greens and reds and purples and blues. Not all of the flowers in the garden were real. A fair number of them had been crafted out of scraps of colored paper and felt, and those were the only ones to show any vitality.

A scrawny black fence jutted out of the soft mud, swaying like a drunk man. It had been one of the first construction projects for the Rejects. And all across the small stain of color in this otherwise bleak landscape, were the rocks.

Big wise boulders, and brilliant white pebbles. Black shiny ones, like marbles or fish eyes. Dusty red ones. Even pieces of brick. The pattern could have been random, and even ugly, had Michael not known what it was.

What it meant.

"Michael?"

And here came the groundskeeper, at twenty-one years of age the oldest member of the Rejects. She padded towards him with bare feet. Her fingers brushed his and Michael sank to the ground of the cemetery, for of course that's what it was.

She didn't say any more, she rarely did. But somehow that was better. Michael looked at the rocks that were really lives, and back at her, from her face to her abdomen. The tears multiplied as she slowly guided his hands to her swollen belly.

He could feel the life there, the most innocent thing in this garden of death. Just one more ant.

It would be born here, and be buried here, and anything it did in between wouldn't matter. Michael took his hand away. He didn't want to be responsible for this anymore. He couldn't.

He curled up on himself, drawing his knees up and hugging them. What kind of rock would Jeremy prefer? The question stabbed his heart.

So he sat, even when the groundskeeper left him to water what was left of the violets. Even when the grey sky darkened to the color of a bruise. Until the stars began to peak out from behind the clouds. He stood up then, still staring at the rocks, noticing how only some of them shined in the moonlight. Aching because if he could he would plant a diamond for Jeremy but aching more because he didn't want to kill his best friend.

Footsteps made him finally turn around to see Garrett, out of breath and sweating.

"We tried to reinsert the SQUIP. But we're not sure how to activate—"

"Mountain Dew."

"We tried that man. It's not working, it's like...it's just dead, it's not responding to the rest of the brain. We might as well be trying to attach a rock to your friend's head I...I'm really sorry. Tyler wants me to tell you that Jeremy also had another seizure. He's no longer stable and his vitals are dropping pretty quickly he…" Garrett paused to swallow and take a deep breath, "he'll be lucky if he makes it through the night."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes. Okay. Have someone prep him for transport, load him into one of the vans and have it meet me out front in half an hour." He didn't wait for confirmation, just brushed past Garrett and back into the hospital. He was running now, and the exertion felt good.

He ran faster than he needed to, just to feel the muscles in his legs stretch and coil, his breath push out and get sucked back in, his lungs to burn with something other than tears. He didn't want to cry for this.

Instead, he focused his mind on counting the minutes. He was on the other side of the building from his room, which was where he was headed. Two minutes, and he had passed a lobby area.

Five minutes, he was in hematology. Ten minutes and he was just about to reach the cafeteria. Still running, eyes wild. Michael blew past the operating room and around two more corners.

Twelve minutes, and he made it to his room. Not wasting any time, he hurried inside and shut the door. The original hoodie was still on the bed and he gripped it tightly. He would not cry for this.

Thirteen minutes; the door opened and startled him. Michael turned around quickly, almost falling back onto the bed. Christine slipped inside, wide eyed.

"I saw you come this way. I was worried."

"No it's okay, I was about to come find you actually."

Here it was. The final moment. Both of them felt the crushing weight of what was to come. They stood, facing one another, oceans apart. And there weren't enough words and there wasn't enough time. But somehow, they understood.

The world wasn't meant for kids. But here they were anyway. And if the giants stepped on them tonight at least they could say that they had lived. Michael clutched the hoodie with white knuckles. Fifteen minutes. Sixteen. Seventeen.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

"Me too," Christine said, "but I won't blame you."

"It's selfish."

"But it would be cruel of us to make you stay."

"They might use me, to find out everything." But they already had. They must have, and they must have already known about everything. But they hadn't attacked, because the Rejects weren't worth it. Both kids knew this. "You'll have to all be so careful."

"We've always been careful."

Twenty minutes. Almost time.

"I don't want to do this to you," Michael choked on tears. He wouldn't cry.

Christine nodded, and sniffed. "I don't want you to do it either. I don't think I could ever explain to the others. They're not going to help me this time. They're not going to come back for you."

"I know." Twenty two minutes. "You're going to be amazing." He handed her the hoodie and she slipped it on over her dress. It was too big, but somehow looked right. Like it had always belonged to her.

Twenty five, and Michael was hugging her. It was an end-of-the-world sort of embrace, the kind that's far too tight to be comfortable and goes on far too long. The sort with fabric clenched between shaking fingers, and noses running. With eyes squeezed shut and deep wavering breaths.

The kind that never feels long enough.

Twenty seven minutes, and it was over. Michael nodded at Christine one last time, then he left her in his room. He made it to the front doors and twenty nine minutes had passed. It was time. It was really time.

The van was waiting for him, engine moaning like some wounded animal. He climbed inside and it was the same van he rode in with Christine, at the beginning of everything. The box of slingshots was still here, but pushed to the side. And in the center of the van was Jeremy, strapped into a cot. A plastic bag hung from his neck, containing the SQUIP. Tyler was in the corner, but he was silent. A younger girl was driving.

The van pulled away from the hospital that Michael had called home for two years. It had taken thirty minutes for his life to be over. But he would gladly trade his for Jeremy's. The van's old wheels rattled along the uneven terrain until they hit road. It was dark inside, and though there were plenty of flashlights no one bothered to grab one. Michael watched Jeremy sadly. A piece of himself that he hated wondered if this was worth it.

But he buried that piece with memories of slushies and video games and bikes. The city whirred around them, but no one paid them any mind. In the distance, the long towers of the Corporation stretched into the sky like teeth in the jaw of some massive monster, black against the indigo sky.

Windows covered them like a pox, each emitting a pale blue light from inside. The van drove on, to building four. Michael braced himself.

The director was waiting for them by a line of trucks. Well, not physically, but two Combats held up a screen with his smug face on it. "I knew you'd come."

Michael didn't answer as he and Tyler unloaded Jeremy. The second he was out an army of Meds came forth from the darkness and began putting him into one of their trucks, speaking quietly but urgently. Michael caught sight of a syringe before looking away.

Two more Combats came to grab him, and he twisted around to see the director. "Wait! My friends, will they get safe passage back?"

The director grinned wolfishly. "Of course. It's only fair."

With that Michael shifted again to watch Tyler climbing back into the van; he turned and made eye contact. He looked devastated and angry. But mostly just, tired. Tyler offered a small wave.

"Give 'em Hell in there man," he called softly, then the doors closed behind him and Michael was shoved into the back of a dark truck.

* * *

 _An odd sort of feeling filled him, as he watched Michael and Jeremy lying in the grass outside. Something like happiness, but also an intense revulsion, warm and slippery in his gut. His heart ached for them, for everyone in the Community. A city for the damned, made in an imitation of heaven._

 _It wasn't like the last time, when he had been able to see Michael become more and more desynchronized from the demon in his head. This time they'd done their jobs. This time the blue light escaping the boy's eyes was strong. Just like Jeremy's._

 _He wondered how it would all end. Or if this was the end. He didn't know who would lead the Rejects now, but he hoped whoever it was had some kind of a plan. Ugly grey light filtered in through the windows. He was cold, but could do nothing about it. Outside, the boys were dressed in t-shirts and shorts. No doubt it was sunny for them. Hot too._

 _And the birds were probably chirping. And the old tree outside was not a veiny black husk, like the clawed hand of a witch, but probably green and blooming. He watched Michael beckon the dog of the month forward. It had been a few weeks since the last one had died, and this one was beginning to suffer. He hated this the most. He didn't understand why those filthy scientists couldn't drop by to feed the damn things. Or even let the residents do it._

 _But no. That would be too stressful. It was imperative the Community be as relaxed as possible to remain attractive. Bastards. He hated the silence of it. There weren't any babies here to cry. None of the dogs could bark and none of the cats could meow. He never saw, or heard, any lawnmowers, but somehow the grass was always freshly cut._

 _All that kept at bay real silence, was the jaunty elevator music constantly playing. It used to be maddening. But after a while it became its own kind of silence. He continued to watch, staring out the window. It was his curse, to watch._

 _If he was being honest, he could sleep too. But sleeping brought nightmares and even if it didn't, he had vowed to watch over the kids, even if that was all he could do. Because one day, when this was all over, he could be someone to talk to. When everyone came to their senses he could help them. Understand them._

 _The door opened, but he couldn't turn to look. Michael and Jeremy bounced into his room, Jeremy holding a tray of cookies that stank like tar._

 _He waited patiently for Jeremy to drop one into his open mouth, waited for the boy to push his jaw up and down for a while, until he mustered up the autonomy to swallow. A cloth came to wipe his cheeks and chin._

 _"We're heading to Jake's house," Jeremy enthused, and Michael nodded happily._

 _He didn't respond. So they spun around and left, but not before hugging the woman—the stranger—who was cast as his wife. He hated her, and she hated him, but that didn't matter._

 _"Bye Mom! Bye Dad!"_

 _"Later Mr. and Mrs. Heere!"_

 _Bye son. Bye Michael. He wanted to call out to them, but of course he could not. He had been shut down long ago. Be careful. Don't listen to them. Get out of here. He had any words trapped in his old head. But instead he simply watched them head across the street._

 _And he would keep watching. As long as it took._


End file.
